


An Ineffable Game

by fits_in_frames



Category: Firefly
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Porn Battle, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sounds her age for once, and he almost thinks he is dreaming again, although his dreams never quite got him this far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ineffable Game

**Author's Note:**

> _if a boy with a girl_  
>  _tarries in a little room,_  
>  _happy is their coupling._  
>  _love rises up,_  
>  _and between them_  
>  _prudery is driven away,_  
>  _an ineffable game begins_  
>  _in their limbs, arms and lips._  
>  {[carmina burana](http://www.classical.net/music/comp.lst/works/orff-cb/carmlyr.php#track19)}
> 
> Implied underaged incestuous thoughts. Written for Porn Battle XIV ([original comment](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/57050.html?thread=8507098#cmt8507098)).

Sometimes, Simon dreams of home. It's never as he remembers it while awake--often the sky is red; occasionally the house he grew up in is gone--but he knows where he is because River is there, and she is happy. Tonight, while he sleeps, she smiles and grabs his arm gently and pulls him close, pressing their bodies together and attempting to whisk him into some ancient peasant dance. Even in his dream he is inept at footwork, and she laughs at him, tossing her head back like a willow tree in the wind. She is happy, he thinks, and this is how she is supposed to be. He feels a sinking in his dream-chest, and moments later finds himself awake.  
  
River--real River, burdened and distorted River--is standing between him and the lamp on the wall. She is slightly taller than she should be, and her arms are above her head, hands almost touching, forming a nearly-perfect oval with her shoulders. She is only wearing an old nightgown that used to belong to Inara, and her slender, beautiful body is silhouetted through it by the cold, yellow light. She lowers her arms slowly and he can almost make out the minute movements of her muscles (he can name them all and tell her how they work, but she already knows, and understands how they feel when she moves). She lowers herself onto her heels, and sighs with an edge of annoyance. He is still a bit hazy from sleep, but he would know that sigh anywhere; it means  _i know you're awake, dummy_.  
  
After a moment, he finally asks, "What are you doing up?"  
  
"Remembering," she says, sounding relieved, still facing the wall. She gracefully drags one toe on the floor in a semi-circle and places her foot in front of the other so they are at an unnatural angle, then stands on her toes and turns around in little steps. "It's much easier with my pointe shoes, though."  
  
He props himself up on his elbow, squinting at her. "I knew I should've given you a sedative."  
  
She squints back and smiles sweetly, and sits on the edge of the bed, in the space created by the angle of his body, pressing her back against his stomach. "Silly Simon," she reprimands playfully, then leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth. He reaches up with his free hand absently to touch her hair, and it's not until then that he realizes her cool hand is on his other arm. He looks down at it, then up at her face. Her features are beautifully soft in a way he hasn't seen since before she left for the Academy, and she is staring, wide-eyed, at his mouth.  
  
"River," he says, and it's almost a question.  
  
"I remember a lot, you know," she says, now fixing her eyes on her hand and his arm, drawing lithe little patterns with her fingers on his wrist. "I remember when you used to watch me dance." She looks back at his face, this time right into his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, feels the last remnants of his smile drop off his face.  
  
"River," he says, and it's a plea.  
  
"I liked it," she says, going back to swiping her fingers against his skin like tiny paintbrushes. "It was nice. It made me feel safe."  
  
"River," he says, and it's a resignation.  
  
"I missed it, when I went away," she continues. Her other hand is on her thigh, fingers tangled in her nightgown, pulling it up to reveal an inch of skin above her knee. "I missed you."  
  
He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say  _i missed you too, more than you will ever know_ , but now she has pulled herself up onto the bed, up onto her knees, and is hovering over his face. She pushes her hair behind her ears, and before he even knows it's happening, she kisses him. It's soft and chaste and brief, but when it's over she barely pulls away; instead she whispers, warmly, into his still-open mouth, "Is that what you wanted?"  
  
She sounds her age for once, and he almost thinks he is dreaming again, although his dreams never quite got him this far. But then she looks into his eyes and that gives it away: this is the real world, and he doesn't know what to say.  _No_  would be a lie and  _yes_  would be even worse. He makes a tiny, desperate noise in the back of his throat, and she takes that as his answer.  
  
"I know," she says  
  
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at hers, and though he doesn't speak, she shushes him anyway. She touches his jaw, then kisses him again, this time with slightly parted lips. His whole body and mind is screaming, but he can't help himself: he kisses her back, pressing his mouth into hers and winding his fingers through her hair. She breaks away for a moment, only to gently push him over onto his back and then slip underneath the blanket on top of him, holding herself up with surprisingly strong arms and curling one leg around the back of his. He kisses her now, open-mouthed and greedy, as if she was air and he was drowning, and rests his hand against her collarbone, feeling his pulse in his thumb mingle with hers at the base of her throat. She smiles against his mouth.  
  
"Your hands are so warm," she murmurs happily, then continues to kiss him with soft, lingering lips and explore the surface of his skin with one small, nimble hand.  
  
After a time (it could be a minute or ten or twenty-five, he doesn't really know), she pulls him up onto his side again with that leg he'd forgotten was underneath him. He cups her jaw and moves in to kiss her again, but she presses two fingers to his mouth, then takes his wrist and guides his hand down towards her chest. He hesitates, trembling, his ears practically ringing with guilt.  
  
"It's okay," she breathes against his cheek, and presses her lips in the same spot when he finally gives in and palms the soft underside of her breast. He has felt many breasts before, in many contexts, but hers is different. It's somehow more real, almost as if it's just an extension of his own body. He curls his fingers, just a bit, and catches a fold of skin and flesh between his thumb and forefinger. She gasps, and he pulls his hand away.  
  
"Sorry," he blurts out breathlessly.  
  
She scans his face up and down with her eyes, shaking her head. She kisses him teasingly, and quietly moves his hand downwards again, then up under her nightgown.  
  
She breaks away from his mouth and his fingers twitch involuntarily between her warm legs, her thumb still pressed into his palm. "Is this what you want?" he asks, and pulls away slightly to look at her face, wondering if she will have the courage to answer the question he couldn't.  
  
She closes her eyes and nods.  
  
"Are you sure?" His little finger is now resting against her smooth inner thigh, and she opens her eyes.  
  
"Yes," she says emphatically, releasing his hand from her grip. She kisses him, pleadingly, and he presses his middle finger against her slit cautiously. She gasps against his mouth. He ventures inside her with his middle and forefingers, and she exhales raggedly. He snakes his other hand up to her face and guides her into a kiss as he gently massages her clitoris with two fingers, thumb trailing on the innermost part of her thigh. She bucks her hips slowly up against his, and for the first time he feels his own erection. He ignores it, and focuses on her.  
  
He rolls her over onto her back, straddling her hips with his knees, still working her with his fingers. One of her hands is on the back of his neck, the other splayed out above her head. Her legs come up behind him, and he can hear her feet sliding against the rough sheets. He kisses her neck, her collarbone, the inside surface of each breast through her thin nightgown. She props herself up on her elbows, rolls her hips once, twice, three times, rubbing herself against his perineum and he nearly comes right there. A few moments later, she throws her head back, mouth open in a joyful grimace, almost as if she is laughing, and he is reminded of his dream again as her whole body shudders underneath him. He holds his hand against her while she recovers, panting. But before she opens her eyes, he's rolled off of her and before she speaks, he's already come into the tiny sink on the opposite end of the room.  
  
"Simon?" she says, sounding like the little girl he once knew.  
  
He suddenly hates himself, but he turns around to look at her anyway. She is sprawled out on the bed, knees still up and apart, one tendril of hair plastered to her face with sweat. She looks at him slightly disapprovingly. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and starts walking over to him.  
  
"I--," he starts, feeling helpless.  
  
And suddenly she's there, one hand on his chest and a few fingers from the other trailing on the underside of his jaw. She rises up on her ballerina toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I am happy," she says as she sinks back down, and smiles.  
  
It's an easy smile, and he notices her eyes are different: less distant, less confused. He pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her whole body and nearly forgetting everything he has just learned about it, and kisses her forehead, sighs into her hair.  
  
"I told you," she says into his arm. "I like it when you watch me dance."  
  
He chuckles, relieved that the tension in his chest is lessening a little. She looks up at him, and her eyes are back to their former glazed and panicky state. He tries to hide his sad disappointment with a smile. She says nothing, but he knows she can see right through it.  
  
"Back to bed with you," he says. He tucks her in and goes to sleep on the floor but she grabs his wrist before he can get very far. They sleep, curled into each other, and neither of them wakes again until morning.  
  
Simon dreams of Osiris again, but doesn't remember it. River doesn't dream, and doesn't care.


End file.
